MISS DENIS HAS VISITORS.
"What's his name and birth? I cannot delve him to the root."
_Shakespeare._
"THERE is Mrs. Creery!" exclaimed Colonel Denis, starting up rather
nervously. "She has come to call _first_. Don't keep her waiting." To
Helen, who was hastily smoothing her hair and pulling out her ruffles,
"You will do first-rate; go into the drawing-room, my dear."
"Yes, but not alone, papa!" taking him by the arm. "You will have to
introduce us—you must come with me."
You see she had begun to say _must_ already!—Colonel Denis was by no
means reluctant to present his pearl of daughters to the visitor who
had prognosticated that she would be plain, and he was sufficiently
human to enjoy that lady's stare of stolid astonishment, as she took
Helen's hand, and kept it in hers for quite a minute, whilst she
leisurely studied her face.
"How do you do, Miss Denis? had you a good passage?"
"Very good, thank you," replied the young lady demurely.
"I see," sitting down as she spoke, and specially addressing Colonel
Denis, "that you have had new curtains and purdahs put up, and have
actually bought that white marble table that Kursandoss had so long on
hand! How much did you give for it?"
"One hundred rupees," replied the purchaser in a guilty voice.
"Heavens and earth!" casting up hands and eyes, "did any one ever
hear of such folly! It is not worth _thirty_. Miss Denis, it's a good
thing that you have come out to look after your father—he is a most
extravagant man!"
Helen thought that this was a pleasantry, and laughed immoderately.
Mrs. Creery was really most amusing,—but how oddly she was dressed!
She was quite old, in Helen's eyes (in truth she was not far from
fifty), and yet she was attired in a white muslin polonaise trimmed
with rose-coloured bows, and wore a black sailor's hat, with the
letters _Bacchante_ stamped in gold upon the ribbon! Meanwhile the
elder lady had been taking a great deal of interest in Miss Denis's
pretty morning-dress; she had come to the conclusion that the pattern
was too complicated to be what is called "carried away in her eye," and
was resolved to ask for it boldly,—and that before she was many days
older!
"You may go up to the mess," she said, playfully dismissing her host
with a wave of her plump, mittened hand. "I want to have a chat with
your daughter alone. I came to see her—_you_ are no novelty!"
"Now, my dear, we shall be quite comfortable," she said, as Colonel
Denis meekly took his departure. "Did you find him much changed?" she
continued, lowering her voice mysteriously.
"A little, but not"—smiling—"_nearly_ as much changed as I seem to
him!"
"How much is he going to allow you for the housekeeping?"
Helen assured her questioner that the subject had not even been
considered.
Mrs. Creery, on hearing this, was visibly disappointed, and said rather
tartly,—
"Well, don't listen to anything under five rupees a day—you could not
do it less. The Durands spend that! The Homes _say_ they manage on
four, but that's nonsense, and the children could not be half fed.
Maybe your father will still leave it to Ram Sawmy, but"—with sudden
energy—"you must not hear of that,—the man is a robber!"
"He has been twenty years with papa," ventured Helen.
"So much the worse for your father's _pocket_," returned Mrs. Creery
emphatically. "I suppose you have brought out a number of new gowns?
What have you got?"
"I have a white silk, and a black silk," replied Helen, with some
exultation in her own mind, for they were her first silk dresses.
"Both perfectly useless here!" snapped the matron.
"A riding-habit."
"Stark, staring madness! There's not a horse between this and
Calcutta—unless a clothes-horse! What else?"
"A cashmere and plush costume."
"You may just send it back to England, or throw it away."
Helen paused aghast.
"Well, well—go on, go on—that's not _all_, surely?"
"I have some pretty cottons and muslins, and a tennis-dress."
"Come, that's better; and when are your boxes to be opened?"
"This afternoon, if possible."
"Oh, well, I'll come down and see your things to-morrow; I may get
some new ideas, and we are a little behind-hand with the fashions
here," waving once more her mittened hand. "And now to turn to another
subject! It's a great responsibility for a young girl like you to be
placed at the head of even a _small_ establishment like this! I am
older than you are" (it was quite superfluous to mention this fact), "I
know the world, and I wish to give you a word of caution."
Helen became crimson.
"I hope you are a steady, sensible girl."
"I hope so, Mrs. Creery," raising her chin in a manner well known to
Miss Twigg,—a manner betokening insurrection.
"There now, don't be huffy! I mean to be your friend. I would have
come down and stayed here for the first week or two, to set you going,
if your father had asked me, as you have no lady in the house; however,
I've spoken to him most seriously. All the men in the place will of
course be flocking to call, and turning your head with their silly
compliments. As a rule they are not a bad set of young fellows; but Mr.
Quentin and Captain Rodney are the only two who _I_ should say were in
a position to marry,—the others are just paupers—butterflies! Oh, and
yes"—here her voice became hollow and mysterious—"I must put you on
your guard against a Mr. Lisle."
"A Mr. Lisle!" echoed Helen, opening her eyes very wide.
"Yes, Lisle—don't forget the name. He seldom comes over; he lives at
Aberdeen with Mr. Quentin—lives _on_ him, I should say," correcting
herself sharply. "He came here a few months ago—goodness knows from
where. It is generally believed that he is in _hiding_—that he is
under a cloud; he is poor as a rat, has no visible means of livelihood,
and is as close as wax about his past. However, Mr. Quentin shields
him, keeps his secret, and there is nothing more to be said except
this—don't _you_ have anything to say to him; he may have the
impudence to call, but indeed, to give him his due, he does not push.
It is a most unpleasant feeling to have this black sheep living in
the neighbourhood at all; I wish he was well out of the settlement!"
shaking her head expressively.
Helen, amazed at Mrs. Creery's volubility, sat staring at her in
speechless surprise. Why should she take such pains to warn her against
a man who she admitted did not push, and whom she was not likely to
see? Another knocking in the verandah, and a rather timid voice calling
"Boy!" announced the arrival of a second visitor, and Mrs. Creery rose,
saying,—
"You will be coming up to the General's tennis this evening, and
we shall meet again, so I won't say good-bye;" then, casting one
last searching glance around the apartment, she, as if seized by
some afterthought, hurried across, coolly pulled back the purdah
(door-curtain), and looked into the dining-room. "Nothing new _there_,
I see," dropping the drapery after a long, exhaustive stare; "nothing
but a filter! Well, _au revoir_," and nodding approvingly at Helen, she
finally took her departure.
The new arrival was a complete contrast to the parting guest; a pale,
faded, but still pretty little woman, with imploring dark eyes (like
a newly-caught fawn), attired in a neat white dress, a solar topee,
and respectable gloves. She was Mrs. Home, the wife of Colonel Denis's
commanding officer, and the mother, as she plaintively informed Helen,
of no less than nine children!
"They make me so dreadfully anxious, dear Miss Denis, especially the
seven at home. I live on tenter-hooks from mail-day to mail-day.
Imagine my feelings when they were _all_ in measles last spring!"
But this was a feat beyond Helen.
"You have two here?" she asked politely, after a pause.
"Yes, Tom and Billy. Your father is so fond of them, and they wanted
so much to come and see you. But I told them you would think them a
trouble—and the first call too!"
Helen eagerly assured her visitor that they would have been most
welcome, and rushing impulsively out of the room, returned with a box
of chocolate-creams she had purchased for her own delectation; which
she sent to the young gentlemen with her best love, requesting that
they would come and call as soon as possible. This gift, and message,
completely won their mother's heart. At first she had been a little
doubtful, a little in awe, of this pretty, fashionable-looking girl,
but now she became much warmer in manner, and said,—
"You know, my dear, I'm not a society lady, I have no time for gaiety,
even if I were fitted for it; between sewing for my boys and girls
at home, and my letters, and my housekeeping, not to mention Tom and
Billy, I never seem to have a spare moment. I came down here early on
purpose, hoping to be the _first_ to welcome you, but I was late after
all!" and she smiled deprecatingly. "Your father is such a very dear
friend of ours, that I feel as if I had a kind of claim on you, and
hope you won't stand on ceremony with us, but come to see us as often
as you can. Will you?"
"I shall be very glad indeed, thank you."
"You see, you and I being the only ladies in the 'Puggarees' too,—it
is a kind of bond, is it not? If I can help you in any way about
your housekeeping, be sure you let me know, won't you? I am an old
campaigner of fifteen years' standing, and everything, of course, is
quite new to you. You and your father, I hope, will come up and dine
with us quietly to-morrow night, and then you and I can have a very
nice long chat."
Helen thanked Mrs. Home for her invitation, and said that if her father
was not engaged, she was sure they would be most happy to accept it.
"And now, my dear," said the little lady, rising, "I must really go!
the Dhoby has been waiting for me at home this half-hour, I know, and
I have all the clean clothes to sort, so I will wish you good-bye.
May I kiss you?" holding Helen's hand, and looking at her with timid,
appealing eyes. Helen became rather red, but smiled assent, thereupon
the salute was exchanged, and Mrs. Home presently took her departure.
After this visit, there was a long interval. Colonel and Miss Denis
were equipped and ready to start for the General's tennis party, when
Sawmy brought in another card; a small one this time, bearing the name
of "Mr. James Quentin." The card was almost instantly followed by that
gentleman, looking as if he had just stepped out of a band-box. Having
cordially wrung his host's hand, and been presented to his daughter,
he seated himself near the young lady, placed his hat on the floor,
and commenced to discuss the climate, her passage, &c., surveying the
new arrival critically at the same time. "She was much prettier than
he expected," he said to himself as he summed her up; "her profile
was not classical, but it would pass; her eyes were fine in shape and
colour, though their expression was rather too merry for _his_ taste;
he imagined that she had plenty of spirits, and but a meagre supply of
sentiment. Her complexion was perfect, but of course _that_ would not
last three months!" On the whole, he was most agreeably surprised, and
her dainty dress, and ladylike deportment, were as refreshing to his
eyes, as a spring of water to a traveller in the desert! The shape
of her hat, the fit of her long gloves, her brilliant colour, and
pure English accent, all mentally carried him back to the Park once
more—his Mecca! Yes, the fall of Miss Denis's draperies, the very lace
in her ruffles, were each a source of gratification to her visitor, who
had a keen eye for such things, and was a connoisseur in toilettes.
He told himself emphatically that this young lady was "no end of a
find!" but, aloud, he politely inquired if Colonel and Miss Denis were
going up to the tennis. They were. Well, he was going too—a sudden
resolution—and might he be permitted to accompany them?
Mr. James Quentin felt an additional sense of importance, as he
strolled up the narrow path towards the General's grounds, personally
conducting Miss Denis (coolly leaving her father to bring up the rear
alone, as the pathway was too narrow to permit of three abreast), and
he honestly believed, that the young lady beside him could not be
launched into settlement society under happier, or more distinguished,
auspices.